


A Dream and a Tale

by opalmatrix



Category: Gentlemen of the Road - Michael Chabon
Genre: Childhood, Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Comfort, Gen, Illnesses, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:52:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6333364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/pseuds/opalmatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zelikman's mother gives him comfort, care, and some of her store of knowledge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dream and a Tale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaDonnaErrante](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaDonnaErrante/gifts).



> At one point, Amram remembers that Zelikman has told him of how Zelikman's mother cared for him when he was ill. This is one of those memories.

The boy was running, running from fire and smoke and giants wielding swords. Yes, he was frightened, but not of death. He had to find someone…or something. He had been running for so long, and he was not sure that he could continue.

Ahead of him was a shadowy form: a beast of some sort. No, it was a horse. His heart was glad, although it was an ugly animal, shaggy and with a Roman nose. He leapt astride it, like a hero in a tale, and off they went, the two together, for there were more companions yet missing. He wore a sword….

The boy coughed, hard. He sat up and found himself in his own bed.

The sheets and bolster were damp and malodorous. His eyes felt gummy and his throat sore, although memory informed him that this was less pain than he had felt for several days. The room was dim, and the sky outside the tiny mullions of glass that made up the window was a deep and lovely blue. Beside the window, a candle made a little pool of warm light. It showed him his mother, sewing. Her needle was still for the moment, and she was looking at him, tiredness and worry in the faint lines on her pretty face.

She put her work into the basket at her feet and came to his side, feeling his forehead and his wrist with cool, soft hands. "No fever. Very good, my Zelik, my golden one. Your father will be so happy to hear it. Are you hungry?"

To his surprise, he was. He nodded, and she went to the door and opened it, calling for his sister and the maidservant to bring food and fresh bedding. She returned to him, smiling now. "You still have some coughing. How do you feel otherwise?"

"Weak. My throat is still sore. My head hurts a little. I was dreaming."

"A nightmare?"

He thought about that. "Yes, at first. But before I woke, it became an adventure. I had a horse and a sword."

She laughed a little at that. Her eyes looked red. The boy Zelik reached out and touched her hand. "Mama, you must not sew by one candle. It's bad for your eyes."

"Spoken like a doctor already. You are a good boy," she said. Beyond her, he heard footsteps, and his sister Simma came in, carrying a tray, followed by Gutta with the clean linen. Everything was bustling chaos for a few moments while they got the boy and his bedding changed. He found himself tired already when they finished.

"Eat, Zelik," said his mother. On the tray was a bowl of broth, with bits of chicken and carrot, and a piece of fresh bread, still warm from the oven. There was also a little covered basket.

"What's this, Mama?" he asked.

"Simma brought you shalach manos from the shul."

"Ah, I missed Purim! And that must mean you missed it too, Mama."

"I did, but to see you awake and talking sense is the best gift I could have. You may have one sweet from the basket when you finish your broth and bread."

He could not eat very quickly, but finally he had consumed enough to satisfy her. The basket held confits, Haman's-pockets pastries with fillings of prunes or poppyseeds, and marzipan balls shaped and colored to look like lemons and oranges. Zelik took a confit and closed the basket again.

"Good," said his mother. "Now sleep."

He was very tired, but he didn't want to surrender his mind again so soon. "A tale first, please, Mama?"

"Very well, but just one. I will tell you of the time that the Queen of Sheba visited Solomon the Wise."

  
  


She told the story well, as she always did, but Zelik's mind kept wandering. How did the queen come to have so much gold? Did almug trees grow in Francia, and what did they look like? Finally, he said "Was the queen really black? Black like pitch?"

His mother stopped and laughed. "So when Tilde the dairyman's wife says your skin is white as milk, is that what she really means?"

"No, Mama."

"There you have it, then. An African is not as black as pitch. Likely the queen's skin was very dark brown, like the mole the rebbe's eldest son has on his chin. I have seen Africans, sailors and such, when I was a child in Pesaro."

He thought about that. "I would like to see such a person."

"Perhaps some day you will," she said. "But now you must go to sleep."

Indeed, his eyelids were sliding shut. His mother started to sing a song about a little golden bird. In his mind, the golden bird belonged to the queen, who was pretty like Simma but with skin as dark as the mole on Menashe's chin. The bird was in a golden cage, but the queen opened the door, and the bird flew away, over Regensburg, east and south and east, to the land of oranges and elephants.

And Zelik fell asleep.


End file.
